Is There A Quiet Place To Lie
by ChaosChild92
Summary: There are ghosts in the wires, he knows. They'll fade with time. SLASH. Don't question it, just love it.


**Title: **Is There A Quiet Place To Lie Maybe Watch This All Go By  
**Author: **Chaos  
**Beta: **None, tragically.  
**Pairings**: Jack/Ianto  
**Warnings: **Ummm, canon character death, drinking.  
**Ratings: **PG  
**Spoiler Warnings: **Season two finale, but we're going to ignore CoE, ok?  
**Disclaimer****: **Not mine in even the remotest of senses. I simply play on the playground that others have constructed. The title/cut lyrics are from a Whitlams song, so not mine either.

**Summary:** There are ghosts in the wires, he knows. They'll fade with time.

**Author's Note: **Um. Not beta'ed. If anyone is willing to look over it for me I would be indebted to you.

Written a long time ago (obviously) but I only just fished it out to fix it up. Enjoy!

* * *

Jack rests his hands on the railing and stares into the gloom below.

The Hub is huge.

Of course, it's always been huge. It's empty too. And of course he's been here when it's been empty before. He's spent years alone down here (years and centuries alone, here and elsewhere).

But it seems to him that it has rarely felt quite this empty before. It's rarely empty enough to make that place somewhere deep in his chest ache. Almost never quiet enough for the silence to pulse in his ears like a suppressed base beat and drape over everything like velvet.

And he never gets used to it. He feels like apologising to the building because his breathing is too loud.

He wanders aimlessly down the stairs. Down to the work stations and the mismatched desks that have collected here over the years like rubbish blown by the wind.

He can't shake the feeling that he might run into them at any moment. That Tosh might pop up from behind the monitors, soothing his soul with the kind of technobabble that occasionally leaves even him behind. That maybe Owen will call something scathing up from the autopsy room. Or, even more likely, be seated at one of the desks, his feet propped casually on the woodwork as he sneers at everyone around him.

These are just ghosts in the wires, he knows. They will fade with time.

But it's harder to remember that when he's alone. When he doesn't have to see Gwen's tearstained face or the quiet resignation in Ianto's eyes. Left alone a part of him wants to hold onto them. Without the others grief it's that much easier to ignore the place in his chest that is burning. That whispers in the dark. Whispers things like _they're never coming back_ and _you'll never see them again _and _everyone you care about dies and you never will_. Words scraping over raw wounds.

It's the same part of his mind that paints vivid images of Tosh, slumped against the table, shivering ever so slightly. That torments him with her eyes, afraid and alone even though he's holding her as tight as possible. That whispers in her voice.

_You're breaking my heart…_

Enough, he tells it. No more.

Without allowing himself a second for thought he turns and heads for the tourist office. He crosses the dusty, darkened room and finds himself standing at the door.

It's late and the pier is dark beyond the single streetlight. But out there in the world is some noise. A distraction perhaps, in a bar somewhere. Something to drown out the silence in his head. Or just drown it.

He opens the door and is hit by the full force of the wind. It's chilly but his jacket is upstairs and he doesn't particularly want to walk back through the Hub (filled with silence and accusing emptiness). Besides, it isn't as if the cold is going to kill him. Not for long.

Instead, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his sleeves down, he steps out onto the boardwalk.

His feet echo solidly against the planks. The rhythm chasing itself around his head (finally quieting the echoes and lingering whispers) and he inhales deeply.

At the point where the boardwalk meets the cobblestones of the square he turns back to face the sea. Behind him are the lights of the city. They promise all the noise and company and drink a man could ask for. And yet something compels him to turn back. Something down the end of the pier that draws him.

He begins walking again.

The ocean lies on either side, as restless and vast as the silence that tormented him inside the Hub. He can see the end of the pier now. The figure that called to him almost invisible in the darkness. Black suit jacket and dark hair blending with the night.

"Ianto." He calls and the sound is snatched away by the wind.

He moves closer, treading softly now.

This close to he can see that there are a series of bottles in a neat line beside the young man. Ianto lifts his hand, bringing another up to his mouth and taking a swig.

As he lowers it again a few drops spill onto the collar of his shirt but he pays them no mind. Ianto, who is always so intent on his appearance. This close he can hear the quiet sniffs and almost taste the tear drops in the air (though it might just be the salt on the breeze). One more step brings him level with the edge of the pier and he looks out into the darkness beyond.

"Ianto." He says again and this time Ianto hears him. He doesn't look up and after a moment Jack settles himself on the edge of the pier. As he sits he notices that Ianto's shoes are sitting beside the bottles. His feet are clad only in socks that are strangely patterned in bright blues and greens.

He notices Jack staring.

"Tosh gave them to me." He says, his voice thick. He sniffles slightly and then laughs. "They were a birthday present the year she started working here." His face crumples again. "She was the only one who thought to look up my birthday."

Jack doesn't say a word. He knew exactly when Ianto's birthday was from the very first day he hired him. Thought he knew everything there was to know about the man until the day Lisa died. He still has the present he had whimsically bought that first year sitting in a drawer in his office.

"Owen laughed." Ianto continues, oblivious to Jack's introspection. "He said I'd never wear them. Said he thought the only colour of clothing I could possibly own was dark grey." Ianto takes a deep shaky breath. "I put them on there and then."

Jack nods. He was watching.

Ianto looks across at him and the look seems to catch on that place in his chest where he's hurting. It breaks his heart to see him like this, it really does. To see the desperation in his eyes. He doesn't think he's ever seen these features twisted in quite this way.

He's seen them manipulated by pleasure and by pain. By sadness and by loss. But never this raw grief. Not even when Lisa died. Then there was just hopeless resignation. The kind of resignation built under months of hope. And guilt. There was none of this shocking, sudden burn.

Wordlessly he holds his arms out.

Ianto puts the bottle down (just a trifle unsteadily) beside its fellows and shuffles closer. It's not particularly dignified or elegant, but within moments he's close enough and Jack can hold him tight.

He can feel Ianto's sobs shuddering through his whole body. But somehow, even with all the tragedy and pain he can feel as he runs soothing hands up and down Ianto's tense spine, it's better now. Ianto fills some of the aching places inside him, soothing them with tears as the voices cease to whisper.

Neither of them says a word as Ianto cries himself out. All the pain and sorrow and grief he has held in releasing themselves into the midnight air.

Neither of them says a word as Ianto weeps.

All the pain and sorrow and grief he's been holding in releasing themselves into the midnight air. Until finally the tide has fallen and Ianto seems to have run out. Of tears, or energy, of strength.

Jack continues to hold him close, entirely comfortable in the silence.

Slowly the night around them begins to lift. The sky becomes a less dense shade and what starlight there is in Cardiff begins to soften.

As he watches the sun haul itself up above the horizon Jack considers that sometimes nature has no sense of drama.

The morning should be washed clean by the tears of the night before. A new beginning. But instead it's heavy with clouds and the sun is only visible as a sightly lighter patch, spreading its glow like oil.

As the world begins to wake up around them Ianto stirs in his arms.

He grumbles as the light stings his eyes and blinks sleepily at the bottles beside him. Slowly, he shifts until he's sitting on his own, allowing Jack room to climb to his feet. Once there he leans down to pull Ianto into a similar position.

He balances the swaying man on before fetching the beautifully polished shoes that are still sitting on the damp planks.

Above them in the square straggling merrymakers from last night are searching for the way home and on the steps further along the dock there are fishermen, risen with the sun to leave for their work. They pay the two men no mind as Jack guides Ianto back up to the office.

Inside the silence does not seem so deafening as it did the night before. There's something almost peaceful.

Jack, deciding that Ianto won't be much use for the next few hours without some kind of artificial stimulant, parks him in front of the coffee machine, where he begins to assemble the pick me up of the true Torchwood member.

He's sure Ianto could make coffee in his sleep (and probably has).

Moving to the computers to check on the constantly shifting power of the rift Jack decides something is missing. Two something's. There's very little he can do about actually bringing them back, but at least their faces can be remembered.

He finds what he's looking for on Gwen's desk and some tape on Ianto's.

By the time he's done Ianto has finished his first cup of coffee and is looking considerably more with it. He blushes slightly when he sees Jack but doesn't say anything.

Gwen arrives as Jack is sipping his own coffee and the morning is officially begun. He hears her stop as she sees the picture he's attached to the computer and then her soft greetings.

He smiles to himself as the computers whir up to speed and Ianto brings in the paper, throwing it at him from the higher level with a fraction of his usual exuberance.

Perhaps they will get through this after all.


End file.
